Simplicity Itself
by parker
Summary: Hermione and Harry's thoughts after...an event


  
A/N Well, another offering from yours truly. The first lines of this suddenly popped into my head as I was sitting for my third to last exam as an undergraduate and the rest of it just HAD to get out. Granted, I need to be studying for my last two finals (then I'm done! baby...well, till grad school next year, but we'll ignore that for now), but that pesky muse would not leave me be. Such a pain in the ass, ya know? She's gone when I need her and when I don't, she won't leave me alone. This is, I think, my absolute favorite of all my shit. I love Friend Enough? but this one has something I can't explain. All that Anais Nin must be kicking in :) Also, to Angie, thank your so much for Trouble in Paradise 8 comment about me writing the stories you wish you could. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
  
  
  
  
Simplicity Itself  
  
  
It was an explosion. A dissolution, an absolution. A scream, a whisper. A prayer, a promise. An answer. It was.  
  
It is?  
  
I can still feel it- I don't know...minutes, decades, hours, seconds...later. It's still pulsating around us. This languid, nerve-tingling, calming, heart-palpitating sense of being. I know it was. I know it still is, for now. However, the question remains...is it?  
  
That's the first, and most vital, question. The second, which is now running through my brain is...how the hell did I get here? I'm not sure, not to this moment specifically. I never thought I'd be here. Never hoped, dreamed, dreaded, imagined. Is it an aberration? A mistake? The most RIGHT thing I have ever done? Has my entire life been leading up to this moment? This place? Right here?  
  
In Harry's bed?  
  
Oh, gods. That thought might have made it real. All the poetry and oxymorons I can think up were a lovely, even lilting, way of putting it off. The "it" of facing myself. After...oh, gods, if I can't even think it, what am I going to do when he opens those eyes? When I'm faced with that emerald full of what? Bewilderment, astonishment, adoration, accusations, satiation, loathing...love? What will he see in my own common brown eyes? If anything I'm feeling is reflected in my eyes, then it must be...bone-deep completion. Confusion. Surprise. Happiness. And...love?   
  
Yes, dear...stop being a plodding, common fool. Of course love. It's always been love, but it was friend love, friendly love, the same kind that has always existed between the three of us. So where did this...passion, exultation, hunger come from? A distant part of my brain is gently laughing, almost mocking. So, the great love of your life is your best friend and it's revealed to you over dinner? And not even an extraordinary dinner, but simply chicken and pumpkin juice and treacle tart in the Great Hall? And you just look up, sharing a private joke and suddenly your eyes won't, can't look away from each other. There is a sudden ache in your chest, and you know that the only way it will be appeased is if you are touching him.   
  
Oh, gods...touching him. That smooth skin beneath me, over me, beside me. Everywhere. Hands burning. Mouths melting. Tongues and teeth and flesh and pulsing, throbbing life. I am alive. For the first time, here in Harry's sheets, breathing us in, my bones liquid, I am alive. I know what it means. I can feel my heart beating life into my veins, I can feel Harry's heart, that amazing organ that continues to give life even after sixteen years of attacks. Alive. I feel like running down through the common room, shouting; running outside through the rain; dancing right here on this bed; kissing Harry until I drown in him. With his hands on my face as though I can not be close enough; my hands running under his shirt, his skin too far away; his hands in my hair; lips on my neck; his body pressed so tightly against mine that it seems that we will meld into one another.   
  
Dear me, where the hell has sensible, bookish, virginal Hermione Granger gone? She's certainly nowhere in sight. She was lost the moment Harry's lips first brushed mine. I will never forget standing outside the portrait hole, standing not even inches away from him, my eyes locked on his mouth and his on mine; his finger tracing circles on my wrist; sharing the same oxygen. I can't imagine what a spectacle we made of ourselves when we finally did get around to kissing. It was like an alien force invaded my body, compelling me to get as close to him as I could. Luckily, no one was around to see us because I couldn't have stopped myself had Voldemort himself shown up. The only one privy to our actions is the Fat Lady who I'm sure will be more than happy to remind us of this tomorrow morning. Holy fuck...what about tonight? Is it still night? Have several days passed, years? Has it been only moments? Will Dean and Seamus and Ron and Neville be back soon? Are they already back? Have we forced them into the Common Room for the night? What will Parvati and Lavender and Ron and EVERYONE do when we emerge from this cocoon? An endless cycle of questions is running through my brain and all but one stops as Harry opens his eyes and looks at me, our legs still tangled together, my head resting on his outstretched arm, our hands still holding tightly.  
  
"Is it?"  
  
***************************  
  
"Is it?"  
  
That is the first thing I hear as I open my eyes. I've been awake for several minutes, luxuriating in the fact that I have never been this comfortable. There seems to be a warmth enveloping my bed, a soul-deep satiation. I can't imagine why it's there, but I am certain that I never want this feeling to go away. As the euphoria wears, other parts of my body start sending me reports. There seem to be two more legs in here and some kind of soft weight on my right arm and my left is stretched along what feels to be a decidedly feminine hip, my fingers tightly clasped with leaner, soft fingers.   
  
Holy fuck.   
  
And I realize that my euphoria is not stemming from a rather pleasant, decidedly physical, dream starring my best friend, my euphoria is stemming from the fact that that best friend is lying next to me after what appears and feels to be a rather lovely, rough tumble in the sheets.  
  
Holy fuck.  
  
I'm starting to repeat myself. I guess shock is the one acceptable emotion in this situation. And, oh gods, what is she thinking? I think that is scaring me more than any of my thoughts or emotions. What if she thinks this is a disaster? That I am a disaster? That WE would be a disaster? We couldn't be, this is too amazing to be wrong. It appears that Sirius was right though. In the only talk about emotions we've ever had, after the Cho debacle, he told me, "When you really fall in love, it's easy." I don't know how he knows that, but he's certainly right. This was extraordinarily easy. But what if Hermione doesn't feel the same? What if she is lying there, hating herself, trying to untangle herself to get away, but she can't because she's afraid she's going to wake me? I think I'll lie here in blissful ignorance a few moments longer, reliving the most amazing night (day, night, who the hell knows when it is?) of my life.  
  
It started out so strangely. Ron had made another slightly asinine comment about Malfoy, and I started laughing. Hermione was grinning, almost against her will, and she looked up and when I looked in her eyes... I don't know. All I knew was that I needed to touch her; my soul, this ache in my chest was telling me to touch her. I vaguely remember my fork clattering to the table as we stood up and left the Great Hall. We didn't answer any of Ron or Ginny's questions about what was going on or where we were going because we didn't have the faintest idea. We walked back to Gryffindor Tower, silent, when I couldn't stand it anymore. I grabbed her wrist and turned her to face me. My thumb was tracing a soft circle on her wrist, my voice and breath caught in my throat. I meant to ask what was going on, but I couldn't force the words out. My eyes would not look away from her lips, those soft, slightly parted lips that I wanted to taste so badly I thought my brain would short out if I didn't. I don't know how long we stood like that, so close we were sharing breath, heads dancing around each other; knowing with a certainty that was instinctive that if we kissed, that would be it.   
  
Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and my fingers were on her face, in her hair, and her hands were skimming along my skin, under my shirt. Hot, wet mouths and tongues and teeth and taste and suddenly she couldn't be close enough and I thought our bodies would fuse and the thought did not bother me at all. No matter how close she got, it was still too far away and there were far to many clothes separating us. I'll never know exactly how we got into the Common Room and up the stairs still kissing, unable to separate. (Though I'm sure the Fat Lady will be only too happy to inform me, gods, what a nightmare that is going to be.) Next is just a blur of burning flesh and curves and constantly moving hands. Those hands that were everywhere at once. Everything just fit. That's how I know this is something; it. Whenever Cho and I kissed, I was constantly thinking, unsure of what to do with my hands and the rest of my body. And I've seen Herm with guys. Even kissing them, she seemed uncertain and awkward. But with the two of us, there were too many RIGHT places to be. Like they had been built for each other, hands and bodies and mouths and eyes...oh, her eyes. They were dilated with desire, but calm with knowledge at the same time. The thought of those eyes is what finally spurs me to open my own.   
  
"Is it?"  
  
***************************  
  
When his eyes finally open, it's like another explosion, dissolution. Whatever I feared, or wanted, or secretly wished for, it was all answered for me. His eyes reflected everything I had been feeling. But with a beautiful CERTAINTY which is the only thing I needed. Except to hear him say it.  
  
"Is it?"  
  
  
***************************  
  
Ah, the question. To which answer? It is right. It is wrong. It is beautiful. It is the end. It is the beginning. It is everything.   
  
  
***************************  
  
It was an explosion. A dissolution, an absolution. A scream, a whisper. A prayer, a promise. An answer. It was.  
  
"It is."  
  



End file.
